


Electric

by crossingwinter



Series: ASOIAF Drabbles & Ficlets [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2102232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her therapist says she has an Electra complex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [upshipcreek](http://upshipcreek.tumblr.com).

Viserys is shaking a bit as he takes off his jacket and puts it around her shoulders.   His hair is lank when it’s damp, the waves hanging heavy and looking less like silver and more like a bland tan in the wet.  His hair is long again—he’d cut it sometime a few months ago and she hadn’t liked it at all.  She likes it long, dangling just down to his chin because she could—she could reach out if she wanted to, run her fingers through it, braid it as they sat next to each other in a taxi cab.

"Thanks," she mutters, zipping it up.  The inside is damp, but it’s warmer at least.  Viserys doesn’t get cold—not the way she does.  And besides, she’d seen him—seen him looking, hadn’t she?  Trying to get a glance at her chest, to see if her t-shirt was thin enough to be see through in the wet.  Or maybe she was making that up.  Maybe she was imagining it because maybe she—

Her therapist says she has an Electra complex, that she is always trying to get her father’s attention because he is always off with Lyanna and that she’d somehow projected all her longing onto his little brother, the one who looked so very like him and was only a few years older than she is, and whom she had known all her life.  He isn’t that much older than her—only a few years.  He hardly qualifies as a creepy uncle—they’re too close in age.  She’s always thought of him more as a cousin anyway—more as a brother.

Lightning flashes and the rain comes down faster than before and Rhaenys wants to kick off her shoes because they are useless now, but she’s also scared of walking barefoot down the street.  Viserys’ jeans are sopping, his button-down shirt is clinging to his chest and she realizes in a way that is most unhelpful that even if her t-shirt wasn’t see-through in the rain, the thin cotton of his  _definitely_  was and she could see the exact shade and size of his nipples, the way that they stuck out in the chill and she feels heat rise in her face as her heart beats faster and she looks away. _  
_

She shouldn’t want him—she shouldn’t.  She shouldn’t be thinking about him that way—it’s disgusting and wrong on every imaginable level,  and even if it weren’t, she still shouldn’t because she has a boyfriend who is perfectly nice and treats her perfectly well and whose kisses are perfectly bland.  When she was little, she and Viserys used to sneak out in the backyard when Dad took her to visit Grandma, and Aegon and Dany would play with playmobile and legos, building cities and castles together, and he would show her how to catch fireflies and once she was so happy that she kissed him and that single, innocent kiss in the backyard of her grandmother’s house was more exciting to her than any of Willas’.  

"Aren’t you cold?" she asks and wants to hit herself because if he knows why she’s asking, she could die.

"It’s chilly," he says, "not cold though.  Dragons don’t get cold."  He smiles over at her, and it’s the same smile that her father has and all she can think of are her therapist’s words—that loving Viserys won’t make her father care about her, that seeing her father in him won’t fix the problems she has with Dad, but even though she sees her father’s smile in Viserys, she also sees the pride in his eyes, the point of his nose, the dimple on his cheek that are nothing like her father and which she loves as much as Viserys’ smile.

"You’d think I wouldn’t, then" she says, her voice more dry than anything else nearby. 

"You’re not used to it.  You need the sun.  It’s what give you power."

She laughs, and it rings tinny in her ears.  She wonders if it sounds strange to him.

"You all right?" 

"Huh?"

"Your laugh—it was different."

He had noticed and she doesn’t know whether to be mortified, horrified, to shriek her embarrassment to the heavens, or to let the warmth pooling in her belly fill her soul because he  _cares_ , he  _noticed,_ and she suppresses the thought that her father wouldn’t have.

Lightning flashes and for a moment, his eyes glow violet and she sees the way that concern is spreading through his face, in every line and crevice, in every inch of color and pallor.  

She could say she is fine—could say that everything is all right, that he was imagining things, that it was just a laugh, Vis, sometimes they sound different depending on what is prompting it.

Instead, she says words that she wishes she could harness up and pull back into her mouth.  

"I love you."

She hopes that the roll of thunder will hide them, that he won’t even hear them and it will be too dark for him to see the movement of her lips.  She looks away and tugs the lapels of his jacket closer around her neck, wishing they didn’t smell like lavender and mint the way he does.

She feels his hand on her neck first, fingers trembling and she can’t even look at him, but he turns her head and he’s so close to her and she can’t stop herself, she can’t—she  _can’t_  because his lips are right there—right  _there_  and he tastes like cinnamon from the cider he had just been drinking and his tongue is soft even if his lips are chapped and he is holding her hair, his thumb rubbing circles into her cheek as they kiss.

When lightning flashes and thunder crashes, they pull apart and his hand drops to hers and she feels a shoot of electricity climbing her arm, going right to her heart.


End file.
